In Dreams
by Squeeka Cuomo
Summary: He’d never been one to believe in subconscious messages or dream interpretation. But in the harsh light of day, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to these particular dreams.
1. Crimson

**In Dreams: Crimson**

He slowly stretched his hands out in front of his face as they began to shake. Every single sound seemed to slip awayas the trembling of his muscles took over. Engulfed in a silence so oppressive that he could feel every nerve in his body vibrating, the man curled and uncurled his fingers. His nails, perfect half moons, left deep grooves in the flesh of his hands. As the nails pulled away once again, the pain receptors in his skin began to scream out in agony.

As his deep brown eyes raked over the soft curves of his hands, a surge of relief flowed through his body. Nothing more than deep fingernail shaped grooves seemed to taint his skin. The trembling that had been manageable when it was only to his elbows rendered his hands useless as a manic smile crossed his angular face.

Just as quickly as the relief flooded through his body, the horror came rushing back. A single drop of blood had blossomed on the tip of his left index finger. Suddenly steady, the man felt the temperature of his skin drop, as the crimson bead slipped over the curve of his finger. Falling in a single perfect droplet, the liquid managed to glisten despite the fact that there was no light source to catch it. The moment it crashed to the floor, all of the sound that had been sucked from his universe came rushing back in full force.

Overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of sounds in what had been a silent world, Sylar's body violently jerked itself out of a very deep sleep. Sitting up in bed, the man clutched desperately at his chest. Wishing he could physically calm the desperate beating of his heart, he clawed at his skin. As the sweat rolled down the bare muscles of his shoulders and back, he savagely pushed the sheets twisting around his body towards the bottom of the bed. Slowly sinking back onto the mattress, Sylar stretched out his arms. Not wanting to close his eyes again so soon, he stared at the plain white stucco ceiling of his hotel room.

With his rapid breathing slowing from harsh puffs to controlled exhales, Sylar couldn't suppress the shiver slipping down his spine. The muscle tremors had less to do with the damp sheets beneath his body and more to do with the images that had just flashed before his sleeping eyes. Attempting to rub the remainder of the vision from his eyes, Sylar knew that he would return to that empty soundless plane again.

And that knowledge terrified him.

Gabriel Gray had always been a light sleeper whose dreams contained nothing more than green clouds and polka-dotted ducks. In fact, he could only remember ever having one nightmare in his entire life, and that was on the night his father had expressed his wish that Gabriel take over the family business.

That night the young man had been chased around his dreams by giant clocks and watches trying to wrap themselves around his body and smother him. Gabriel had known it was just his brain drawing on an old Dali painting he'd seen a picture of, but it was still terrifying. Even though he had come to accept his fate, the young Gray had still tried to outrun the ticking timepieces. Ticking timepieces that symbolized the death of his chance to be special. Waking up from that dream had been the single most terrifying moment of his life.

Since that night so many years ago, his mind's nighttime wanderings had returned to the sweeping fantasy of a wonderful nonsensical dreamscape.

Until a month ago that is.

At first he would wake up suddenly feeling panicked for no reason. But the nightly torture quickly escalated from unexplainable fear to thrashing terror.

He'd never been one to believe in subconscious messages or dream interpretation. But in the harsh light of day, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to these particular dreams. Unfortunately he didn't know what the dreams were telling him or how to make them stop.

So for now, he was stuck.

Stuck with bleeding fingertips and sweat soaked sheets and no way to escape either.

With his breathing back to normal and a thin layer of grime replacing the sweat on his body, Sylar felt more at ease. The terror of the dream was slipping away as his nerves began to calm. In retrospect, he'd only dreamed of a drop of blood and an absence of sound. Neither was terrifying, though the lack of noise had the potential to be unnerving. A small chuckle escaped the man's lips as he brushed off his earlier fears.

It was only a dream.

A stupid, childish dream. Twisting his fingers through the damp sheets of the bed, he couldn't help but feel slightly… ashamed. And embarrassed about his reaction to the dream.

Desperate to press the horror of the nightmare and the shame of his fear to the back of his mind, Sylar pressed his eyes tightly shut. He'd seen far worse things in his waking life and done most of them himself. He wasn't about to let a silly dream get the best of him.

Considering his state of near panic only a few minutes before, it took the man a surprisingly short time to slip back into the rhythm of relaxed sleep. With each gentle rise and fall of his chest, his breathing and heart rate slowed. The tension pulling his exhausted body taut slipped away, as the weight of his form sunk into the hard motel mattress beneath him.

As quickly as he'd woken up, Sylar slipped back into the cycles of REM. Completely immersed in the soft arms of sleep, his mind began to play and do what it could not while he was awake…

Barefoot on a beach made of blue sand, Sylar pulled a piece of pink bread out of a bag he hadn't noticed he'd been carrying. Holding out a chunk of the food, he watched as three zebra striped geese came waddling out of the purple ocean before him.

When the birds opened their bills to honk, the meows of a cat filled the ocean air, adding to the whimsy of the scene. Of the three, only two would accept his offering. Tearing off a larger piece of the treat, the man tried once again to get the third animal to eat. But when it opened its mouth, instead of taking the morsel, he bit the feeder's skin.

Pulling his hand back, Sylar looked down at the assaulted digits to see a single drop of blood blossoming forth from the tip of his left index finger. It was a wound that shouldn't have bled, and the moment that fact hit him, everything around him turned to a sickening shade of crimson. Absentmindedly dropping the plastic bag, Sylar walked in a circle around himself, gasping in horror, as the rainbow world began to melt a away like oil paint slipping down a canvas.

As the last reminders of the beach slipped away in a wash of color, the man tried to run. Tried to pull his bare feet off of the now white ground. But they wouldn't budge. Trying to fight back the wave of panic filling his chest, Sylar reached down to try and physically pull his legs free of the invisible vice holding him hostage.

Grabbing at his thigh with increasing terror, Sylar tried to block out the world around him. But eyes pressed desperately shut could not block out the familiar screams of his victims. The sounds that had once put a smile on his angular face now felt like a million knives all cutting into his body at once. Fighting back a scream of his own, the man continued to try and break free.

All at once, just as quickly as it began, everything stopped. The tortured voices that had been begging for salvation. The unmovable grip on his feet and legs. Everything. Frozen in shock and horror, with his eyes still pressed tightly shut, the only thing that Sylar could feel was the terrible pounding of his heart. It was only then that he recognized the all too familiar absence of sound.

But instead of the deafening silence from before, this one held a single pounding heart beat. One that seemed weaker and calmer than his own. Echoing through his ears, the sound threatened to burst his eardrums.

Slowly opening his eyes, Sylar stared around in horror at the vast white landscape now surrounding him. Though he didn't want to, the man couldn't help but look down at the palms of his hands. The droplet of blood he'd expected to see on the tip of his fingers was already falling to the floor. And though there was no reason for it, Sylar dreaded the moment when it would splatter onto the white ground.

The moment of impact came all too soon, and, as the blood crashed into the pristine floor, it fractured into a million tiny drops. The quickly multiplying drips formed a thrashing crimson river that seemed to flow from one end of the earth to the other. It had no visible beginning or end.

Though his feet were no longer stuck to the ground, Sylar couldn't move. Soaked to the bone in what could only have been the blood of his past victims, he was frozen in his place, begging anyone that would listen for release. And while he could hear his voice inside of his head, it wasn't able to penetrate the world surrounding him.

With his mouth working frantically, soundlessly, Sylar stopped mid-yell, as someone else entered his world. Walking serenely through the river of blood was a young boy. Dressed in white cotton pants and a t-shirt that were untouched by the shimmering blood flowing around him, his deathly pale skin seemed to blend into his clothing.

Mouth hanging open, Sylar looked on in wonderment as the boy came walking towards him. For some reason, the child's face looked familiar despite the fact that he couldn't place him. As his brain began to search frantically for the name that went along with the pale face, a soft voice began to mingle with the horrid beating of his heart.

Sylar barely noticed that the boy's lips weren't moving, as his words finally separated themselves from his own heartbeat.

"I know what you are, Gabriel."

Sitting up bolt right in his bed, Gabriel Gray didn't bother to wipe away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes or attempt to steady his trembling hands. Chest heaving, he could barely find voice or breath for the two words that were fighting their way out. On one labored exhale, he was able to whisper the name of the boy who had been haunting his dreams. "Billy Miles."

**Squeeka Cuomo's Notes**

- This was originally written for the lj community "heroesprompts" (Prompt: I've just seen a face. I can't forget the time or place where we just met.).

- Katie: My beta, my Quack. Thank you so much for all of your help and support. I can't tell you how much it means to me. :duck:


	2. Billy

**In Dreams: Billy**

"How do you find out about these people and their… _abilities_?"

"Well, it hasn't been easy. It's taken a lot of…" Dr. Chandra Suresh moved from the cluttered table in what was supposed to be his living room to stand next to Gabriel Gray. Staring at a large map covered in Polaroid's, stickpins, and string, Gabriel smiled when the professor began to look at the map with him. "Searching." Pushing in a loose tack with the fleshy pad of his fingertip, Suresh scanned the myriad of faces spread out over the board. "Reading articles about unexplained occurrences and tracking the people down." Looking over at the young man next to him, the doctor gave him a smile that radiated pride. "But unlike you, most of them don't want to be found."

Reaching out with a tentative hand, Gabriel ran his fingers along the different colored strings connecting the various pins. As he thought about everything that had happened since the professor had found him, the watchmaker found it hard to believe that someone wouldn't want to know about the amazing potential they possessed. After all, who didn't want to be special? "I find that hard to believe."

"Believe me, I wish that it weren't true. I tried contacting quite a few people before I finally found you." Gently placing his hand on the young man's shoulder, Suresh prepared to turn back to the table and his research material. However, Gabriel's voice calling to him stopped him in his tracks.

"Are there any abilities that you wouldn't want to have?" Based on his experience so far, Gabriel could hardly believe that there would be such a thing as a bad gift. But the look on Chandra's face as he scanned the map said otherwise.

"There are a few." Scanning the board, Suresh didn't need to look at the yellow post-its containing the name, address, and ability to know every detail about the pictures' subjects. While he generally regarded the abilities he studied as fantastic, there were a few that could only be described as a curse. "Like this boy for instance…"

Plucking the photo and attached sticky note of a young sickly looking boy from the map, Suresh stared into his haunted eyes. "Billy Miles. He can… see what you are. I don't mean an enhanced version of a psychic ability either." Lost in the murky depths of the child's eyes, the doctor didn't resist when he felt Gabriel tug the photo from his grasp. He didn't need to see the picture to be able to recall the child's face with startling clarity. "When you look into his eyes, you can see your soul."

Turning away from the map and the memory of his one and only meeting with Billy Miles, Dr. Suresh left his companion standing in front of the board. He'd have given anything to forget that day and that child, but it was a visit that would haunt him until the day he died. No prayer could absolve him from the sins that tainted his soul, and he didn't need Billy Miles to show him that.

Sylar knew that it wasn't his place to ask and really, none of his business, but he couldn't help it. He had to ask. The moment the question slipped over Gabriel's lips, he wished he could take it back. The doctor didn't seem angry or upset by the prying nature of the inquiry. Instead, he looked as haunted as if he'd just seen a ghost. Staring at the older man from across the room, he watched the last drop of color drain from Suresh's face. "Doctor, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Oh no, Gabriel. It's alright." His voice wavered slightly, as if he were fighting with himself to say the words. "I saw myself surrounded by all of the misdeeds of my life."

Caught up in the man's confession, Gabriel moved from the map to sit at the small table across from Dr. Suresh. He'd found the doctor to be open and honest about his studies, but he'd never really expected him to answer the question.

As the words began to pour from the older man's mouth, the watchmaker leaned forward in his seat, drinking in every word he had to offer. Afraid that Suresh would stop speaking if he were to interrupt him, Gabriel bit down on the inside of his bottom lip. Silently willing him to continue, the young man felt his eyes go wide.

"I saw my daughter…" As the words trailed off, Gabriel watched the fear in Dr. Suresh's eyes melt to sadness. Though he wished the doctor would continue, Gabriel knew that he wouldn't. Picking up the small teapot sitting in the middle of the table, the watchmaker poured some of the steaming liquid into the other man's half empty mug.

When he'd sat down in his customary seat at the table, Gabriel had set the picture of Billy and the post-it of information on the table next to him. But now, with the doctor drinking deeply from his chartreuse mug with his eyes pressed shut, Gabriel found himself slipping the picture off of the table. Undercover of the wooden surface, Gray folded the paper in half and stuck it in his pocket.

"So Gabriel, have you been working on the assignments I gave you the last time we met?" His tone was gentle but final. The topic was officially closed.

Quickly, the young man's eyes brightened, and he couldn't help but feel excited despite the mood that was settling over the apartment. He'd been practicing, and he'd _earned_ a lot since their last meeting. Smiling softly, Sylar looked into the doctor's eyes. "Yes, Doctor, I have…"

**oooooooooo**

Violently pushing back the covers holding his body captive, the man practically fell out of his bed, as he tried to get to his duffle bag. Finally free, he crossed the hotel room in three long strides. Carelessly ripping open his suitcase, Sylar pulled out a long forgotten jacket. A jacket that hadn't seen the light of day since he'd been Gabriel Gray. Reaching into the inside pocket, he pulled out a photograph he hadn't thought of in months. The photo was creased haphazardly down the middle, and flecks of ink had chipped off, but the eyes, those sad grey eyes, were untouched. Through the semi-darkness of early morning, the haunting face of Billy Miles stared up at him.

Struggling to pull yesterday's pants and t-shirt over damp skin, Sylar gathered his few belongings in a flurry of frenzied movements. Finally content that his things were in his bag, folded or not, the man rushed out of the hotel room, leaving both keys on the small table by the window.

Normally he would have stopped to pay the bill, if only to keep the police off his trail. But right now, a seventy-dollar bill at a sleazy off-ramp motel seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things. And so he threw his bag on the passenger seat of his car and jumped in. Pulling out of the parking lot, Sylar headed west.

From where he was, the Miles' home was only a few hours drive, and if traffic were good, he'd be able to make it there by mid-morning. Allowing for gas stops and other unforeseeable circumstances anyway. He had to see the boy, and he had to see him now. But as "now" was impossible, he could only hope that he made it there in time. He couldn't quite explain why, but since he'd found the picture, Sylar had been overcome with a horrible sense of foreboding.

As the wheels tore over the pavement, a light rain began to fall. Highlighted by the headlights of a few passing cars, the cascading droplets reminded him horribly of the blood that had blossomed from the tip of his finger no more than a half hour ago. He tried to shake away the memory, but as the rain continued to splatter the windows, he couldn't get the sight out of his mind. Flipping on the wipers, Sylar tried once again to wipe away the reminder of his dream. But instead of cleaning off the glass surface, Sylar's eyes met with the unthinkable. What should have been a rain-streaked windshield was now smeared with dark blood.

Haphazardly pulling off the side of the road Sylar shut off the motor with an ice cold hand. The sound of the motor cooling mixing with the patter of rain, the man pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. With the twinkling pin pricks dancing before his irises, the man began to rub at them like a child wiping away tears.

Dreams were not supposed to be part of waking life. The horrors that went bump in his brain were not allowed to play in the daytime. But for some reason, they were. Slamming his head back into the headrest, Sylar let out a scream that was part human, part animal. As the harsh approximation of 'no' ripped through the air, the man forced his eyes open.

When he looked out the windshield, he was relieved to see that the rain was once again only rain. Still too shook up to feel relieved, Sylar re-started the car; he didn't have time to spare. Pulling off of the shoulder with a harsh squeal of tires on wet pavement, he headed towards the home of Billy Miles.

**Squeeka Cuomo's Notes  
**- This was originally written for the lj community "heroesprompts" (Prompt: Writer's Choice: "I know you. You know me."  
- Come Together)  
- Katie: Thank you so much for all of you help. I appreciate it more than you know. :duck:  
- Reviews are love.


	3. Revelation

**In Dreams: Revelation**

Pulling up in front of the two-story, white house with its picket fence, Sylar couldn't help but marvel at how picture perfect the Miles' residence was. Add a small dog romping through the front yard, and it could easily have been a postcard reading, "Welcome to the American Dream!" in scrawling letters. But like anything that appeared perfect on the outside, this stereotypical suburban home was hiding horrors within.

The Miles' home didn't hold an abusive husband or an adulterous mother. There weren't any skeletons in the closets that needed to be hid. No, the house protected a dying child from the outside world. A world whose germs and pests would only speed along his imminent demise. Just looking at the house, Sylar could feel the sadness that rested within. It was almost as if the hurt and anger that came along with watching your son die had formed a thin layer of depression over the white exterior of the home.

Staring at the expertly manicured hedge bushes, Sylar wanted to turn the car around and drive away. Not just drive away but run away. Run away from the source of his nightmares and waking dreams. He wanted, needed to get as far away from Billy Miles as he possibly could. Thinking back, he could recall the haunted look in Dr. Suresh's eyes with perfect clarity. Even thought the doctor had never told him exactly what he'd seen, he knew it had greatly affected the older man.

And that… scared him.

Shutting off the car's engine, he pulled the jacket he hadn't worn since he was known as Gabriel Gray from his bag. It was a simple coat, nothing special, but it was also a horrible reminder of his former life. But if he wanted to get into the Miles' home, he needed to seem… harmless. Or as harmless as he possibly could anyway.

Following the pansy-lined walkway up to the front door, Sylar felt as if he were marching to his death. Flashes of blood clouded his vision of the front door as his heart began to pound violently against his rib cage. The more rational part of his brain told him that he was being ridiculous, that he was being a fool. That same part of his brain also kept reminding him that he'd faced things much worse than a bed-ridden child. But the part of his soul that still clung desperately to Gabriel Gray screamed out that he should turn and leave as quickly as he could.

Sylar, however, refused to listen.

Gently pressing the doorbell, the man listened to the slow ding-dong ringing in the house and the subsequent, "I'm coming!" that followed. Quickly straightening his jacket, Sylar felt his stomach begin to twist itself into knots. The moment the doors swung open, he knew there was no turning back. This was it.

"Hello, my name is Gabriel Gray." His voice was softer than normal, an echo of his former self. He could only hope that it would help him appear non-threatening. "I work with Dr. Suresh. I'm here for a follow up visit with Billy."

The face before him was an approximation of her son's. Same eyes. Same lips. His ears and nose were different, and Sylar imagined they were Billy's father's. There were also a few gray hairs streaking her auburn mane that seemed premature for a woman in her early thirties. He could only assume that they were the result of stress and worry. "Oh. Please come in." Pale and tired looking, Mrs. Miles stepped aside to let the man by.

One step into the house and Sylar was blown away by the palpable sadness that seemed to fill every nook and cranny. It was almost as if all of the pain the family had endured threatened to suffocate Sylar as it clung to his body and dulled his senses. Normally, he could sense the abilities of others, could hear the tell tale ticking of that amazing extra gear in their brain. He couldn't pick up on what the person could do per say. Just the fact that another i_special_/i person was nearby. But despite that he knew about Billy Miles and his amazing power; he couldn't place it among the despair filling the home.

"His room's upstairs." Mrs. Miles quietly shut the door before crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "It's not that I don't believe you, Mr. Gray, but the last time he was here, Dr. Suresh said there was nothing he could do."

"Please, call me Gabriel." Putting on his most charming smile Sylar craned his neck around to look at the woman behind him. "Well, he decided to do a follow up visit just in case. So he asked me to come and see how Billy is doing,"

Nodding, Mrs. Miles looked as if she understood. After all of the second, third and fourth opinions she'd sought out, she could sympathize with Dr. Suresh and his quest for answers. "I understand." Gesturing towards the staircase, the woman allowed her visitor to walk ahead of her.

At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Miles pointed towards the left, her silence deafening. It wasn't until they stopped in front of a door bearing a dinosaur plaque reading "Billy's Room" that she spoke. With her hand on the doorknob and her head bowed, Mrs. Miles spoke the horrible truth that he'd somehow already known. "Billy… doesn't have much time left. He's been slipping away since last week."

He could hear the tears in her voice, but the only thing that mattered was the ominous nagging he hadn't been able to shake from the night before. He'd wanted to believe that it was simply a by-product of his nightmare. But this… He almost felt like the child had been calling him. Which was impossible. As far as Sylar knew, Billy couldn't walk through dreams. There was also no way for him to know who "Gabriel Gray" was, let alone "Sylar."

As the woman's soft tears turned into sniffles, she turned the handle and opened the door to her son's room. With a creek that cut through the heavy air between them, the door swung open. The room on the other side was the exact opposite of what he'd been expecting.

There were no toys scattered on the floor or stains on the carpet. The walls weren't painted bright blue with cartoon dinosaur appliqués on them. There was nothing in the room to suggest that it belonged to a five-year-old boy.

Instead, as his right foot passed from the tan carpet of the hallway to the white tile of Billy's room, he'd felt like he'd stepped into a different world. A world of sterile, white sheets and grey beeping monitors. A world devoid of laughter and hope. Walking further into the room, Sylar felt the same terror that had filled his dreams begin to tingle at the edges of his nerves.

Along the far side of the room was a bed much to large for a five-year old, and in the middle of it was a frighteningly frail child. Hooked up to every machine in the room, Billy looked like a human pincushion that'd been poked one too many times. If it hadn't been for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, Sylar would have sworn Billy was already dead.

"He umh… sleeps a lot anymore." Mrs. Miles had walked in after him and had started straightening the ends of the sterile bedspread. Though she was speaking to her visitor, she could only look at her son. "The doctor says that it won't be long." Moving from the white cotton to the bald head of her child, the woman couldn't bring herself to look at Sylar.

"Dr. Suresh told me he has… a gift." His voice was soft, almost fearful. Trying to gain control of his terror, the man's eyes flicked from mother to son. Glued to his spot with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, Sylar knew that he should try and comfort the grieving woman. If only for the sake of appearances. He, however, had more pressing matters than a few bitter tears. He needed answers. Now. "He told me that if you look into Billy's eyes, you can see your soul." Watching the woman, he knew that she knew. After all, Dr. Suresh was always honest with those he believed to be special.

"Whenever I look into my son's eyes, I see angels. I always thought that… that it was a reflection of how I saw him." For the first time, the boy's mother looked Gabriel Gray in the eye. "I know it should make me happy. To know that I have a good soul. But this i_gift_/i is killing my child, Mr. Gray." The last few words were soaked with a bitterness that caused an involuntary chill to run the length of Sylar's spine.

Mrs. Miles walked away from her son and without explanation moved to leave the room. It wasn't until her hand was on the door handle that she turned back. "I need to run downstairs for a minute. I'll be right back."

Sylar watched as the woman looked towards her child once again before leaving the room with her head bowed. Glad that she was finally gone, Sylar thought about the dreams that had been haunting him. He couldn't help but be amazed that they were caused by a dying five-year old. But that was no longer important. He'd heard all he needed, and now it was time to confront his nightmares. But as he stood two feet away from the bed, he realized that he had absolutely no idea of how to approach Billy.

If he woke the boy, would he scream? Would he be able to scream? Or even speak for that matter? Sylar didn't have the answers to any of the questions, and therefore he couldn't take the chance. He could pry his eyes open with telekinesis, but he wasn't sure if the child needed to be conscious for his gift to work. Standing over the boy, he pondered his choices. He couldn't believe that the child in the bed was capable of causing so much agony simply by looking at someone.

Taking a step forward, Sylar froze as Billy's pale blue eyes fluttered open. He didn't search the room for his mother or try to scream. No, Billy Miles simply stared unquestioningly at the man standing over him. The quickened beating of the heart monitor was the only acknowledgement of Sylar's presence.

Stuck in between stepping and standing still, Gabriel froze as all sound, save the beeping of the monitor, stopped. The moment clear blue eyes locked onto brown, a tidal wave of blood began to crash around the white room, drowning everything in crimson. Everything but Billy Miles that was. He and the sterile hospital bed remained untouched.

As the wave began to soak through the jean material of his pants, the screams of his victims began to echo through Sylar's head. Bloodstained hands desperately clutched his ears as Sylar stared at a ghostly echo of himself at ten-years old, praying to God to be different, special.

Childhood memory slipped into recent memory, and though he couldn't stand the sound, his hands fell away from his ears. An eerie chorus of clocks joined with the rushing waves and echoing screams, but it was the frantic beating of the heart monitor that stood out the most.

With each beep, a different terrified person dying a different terrible death flashed before his own horrified eyes. As death after death assaulted him, his own voice, the voice he'd used as a small child began to profess the Our Father.

The last person to appear was his own mother, large silver scissors sticking out of her chest. The heart monitor that had been beeping frantically screamed out a steady, unflinching flat line as his mother's face twisted into an expression of shock and horror. Her lips twisted and began to form silent words. Despite the fact that no sounds came out, he could hear the words in his head. The voice, however, was not his mother's. It was Billy's.

"You know what you are, _Gabriel_. There's no salvation for your sins. You're a monster." The voice was simple and matter fact, strangely mature for such a small child.

The faint whining of the bedroom door cut through Sylar's thoughts, and all at once, everything disappeared. The blood. The screaming, voiceless faces of his victims. Everything. The only thing he could hear was Mrs. Miles' anguished sobs as she ran to her son's lifeless body.

With the flat line of the heart monitor still screaming out Billy's death, Sylar stumbled backwards out of the child's room before turning and running out of the house. Fumbling for his keys as he tried to wrench open a firmly locked car, Gabriel felt like a terrified child being punished. He'd always thought of himself as the evolution of humanity. As bettering the survival of those with special abilities. It was always about survival of the fittest with him at the head of the pack.

But now… he wasn't so sure.

Where there was once clarity, Sylar found shades of grey. Shades of grey that brought back memories of Sunday morning mass and reconciliation afterwards. He'd never once considered himself a murder or a monster. But after looking into Billy Miles' eyes, after seeing his own soul, he wasn't so sure…

Finally managing to get the car open, Gabriel Gray jumped in and sped off as quickly as he possibly could. He would never look back.

**Squeeka Cuomo's Notes  
**- This was originally written for the lj community "heroesprompts" (Prompt: Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. – Strawberry Fields Forever)  
- Katie: Thank you so much for your continued support with this. It means so much to me. :duck:  
- Reviews are love.


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